Die Mauer
by Peacewish
Summary: G1. Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.
1. part I

_Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage._

_- Richard Lovelace_

It only took one second to lose myself. Blinding pain ricocheted in my head for exactly one second and then it was gone, leaving me gasping for breath and pressing the heel of my palm to my forehead in an effort to curb it. It wasn't necessary; it went away quite happily on its own, and all it left behind was a trace of dizziness. I stumbled, caught myself, and lifted my head.

The damage, though, was done. I was lost. An unfamiliar street stretched away to my left and right, lined with unfamiliar buildings. I didn't know this place and I didn't know myself either, mentally reeling from the shock of that one second of pain. I had a name, surely I did, but when I scrabbled to catch hold of it there was nothing but a blank in my mind.

Fear skittered through me and I whirled around, expecting something to attack me - maybe whatever it was that had attacked me in the first place and hurt me in the head. But no one was around, I was alone on the crack-riddled sidewalk. Elsewhere on the street, I could see a few people here and there. They walked with their heads bowed, though, bundled within thick coats and scarves, and did not even seem aware of me.

White vapor clouded up with every exhaled breath, and I shivered when I realized how cold I was. This sweater I was wearing was thin and threadbare, doing nothing to keep out the chill, and the patched-over corduroys weren't much better. Hopefully I checked my pockets for a wallet, looking for identification, or anything at all that would give me a clue. I had nothing.

"Help."

I started at the sound and looked around, only to realize I was the one who'd spoken. I didn't even know the sound of my own voice. I spoke again, just to be sure.

"...help?"

Nobody else was close enough to hear. Maybe there was someplace in this city that I called home, and maybe there were people who could help me, but I did not know how to find them. Going anywhere, though, had to be better than just standing here. Anyway I was cold, and moving would help. I started walking briskly, puffs of mist coming a little faster with the exercise. I had also hoped moving would help curb the growing fear, but it didn't.

* * *

It would have been better if I felt I was going somewhere with all my walking. But all the streets I tried, one random turn after another, looked exactly the same. Rows of dreary, featureless buildings lined all of them, all made from the same oatmeal-colored concrete. Low, thick clouds pressed in overhead, adding to the pall. I was starting to get quite desperate, and wondering if I should try knocking on the door of one of those unremarkable buildings, when I turned another corner and nearly walked into a gaping hole.

"Hey, watch it!" someone barked, and I jumped back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see it."

"Try walking with your eyes open next time, or you'll be taking a surprise nose dive into my work site." The construction worker scowled up at me, waist deep in the sidewalk, and I shuffled back a step. "Bekummert," I said again, not wanting any trouble. The rest of his crew shot me a quick sneer or ignored me, depending on their various tasks, most of which seemed to involve tapping at the sidewalk with tiny hammers. All of them wore bright green hard hats, the first real color I'd seen in this city.

"Um, I'm sorry to bother you -"

"Then don't."

"Bitte," I pleaded. "I'm lost. I think I hurt myself, somehow, or maybe someone hurt me, and I can't remember my name -"

"Hey, pass me the number two shovel."

"You got it, chief."

"Is there a place I can go, someone that can help -"

"You're bothering me, kid. Get lost."

"I am lost!"

"No you're not," said one of the other crew, not looking up from his tape measure. "You're exactly where you're supposed to be, or didn't you know that?"

I blinked. "What?"

"What are you, deaf too? You're where you should be. Stop making a big fuss about it and interrupting our work. Hole's not gonna dig itself."

"But only one of you is digging," I said unthinkingly, and got a lot of irritated looks.

"Doesn't know his own name but he knows how to do our job for us. Isn't that amazing, boys?"

"Next he'll be telling us we dug it in the wrong place."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -"

"Sure, like you didn't mean to waltz right into my worksite to begin with. Berlin's a big enough city that you can go find somewhere else to whine, so get yourself gone already." The nearest laborer moved in a little too close to me, and I gulped when I realized I didn't even reach his shoulder. Either this man is extraordinarily tall, or I am very short. "Start walking, boy."

"Can you tell me where I can -"

"Why don't you try that way?" He pointed to his right with a mysterious smirk. "Should be entertaining."

I didn't like the way he said that, but one of the other men was standing up too, looking ready to make me get going if I didn't do it myself. Yes, I was a very short person.

"I'm going!" I ducked my head and scampered around the edge of the hole, apparently too close.

"Get off the stress fractures!"

"Sorry!" I broke into a light run, face burning with embarrassment when I heard their laughter. I couldn't get out of hearing range fast enough. Down the street I ran, vapor of my breath streaming behind me, and did not stop to make any turns. Subconsciously I followed the direction of the construction worker, until I realized I'd followed the street to its very end. Literally, it ended abruptly against a tall concrete wall that stretched away to the left and right for as far as I could see. Looped barbed wire ran along the top. How strange. Why was such a frightening looking wall running right through the city? It seemed so out of place.

Panting from all the exertion, I backed up and tried to see over the top. All I could see was two watchposts, built high enough to be called towers, standing somewhere beyond the wall. Men dressed in soldier uniforms lounged in each of them, a little too far away for me to see their faces very clearly, but they could certainly see me.

"Hey!" one of them hollered, and I cringed. "Your eyes stuck? Why all the staring?"

"I wasn't staring!" I answered quickly, when I saw him heft a machine gun. "I'm just lost! I thought I was supposed to come this way but -"

"Come this way? Come _this _way? Boy, you are not ever supposed to come this way and don't you forget it!" Even from this distance I could see their glowering expressions. I backed up another step.

"It was an accident, I didn't know! I'm lost!"

"Damn right, you are. We catch you anywhere near this wall again, we'll punch you with so many holes people can see the sunset between your shoulders. Understand?"

"Ja." I nearly tripped over my own feet backing up so quickly, a little nervous about turning my back. "Won't happen again. I'm sorry." I bumped against the closest building and slid myself back around its corner, not really daring to breathe until I had safely plastered myself out of sight. Why is everyone in this city so angry? What did I ever do to them?

I stayed where I was until my breathing had evened out, and I felt ready to move. Where I should go, of course, I didn't know, but I didn't want to step out into the main street again. That left this smaller cross street as my only option, so I started down it at a quick walk. I could still see the strange wall to my right when I reached the end of the block, so I turned a firm left and kept going. I kept checking over my shoulder until I could no longer see it, and only then did I relax. I was still afraid, of course, and bewildered beyond measure. But at least I was no longer being threatened with guns.

A chilly gust prompted me to rub my arms, and speed up a little. I wished it were not so cold. In an effort to hide from the wind I ducked into a recessed shop doorway, a shop that was apparently long since closed down according to the sign on the door. The windows were dark, their inside faces filmed over with dust. The very darkness behind the glass, though, had made the window into something of a mirror. I stepped back, when I realized I could see my own reflection, and for the first time saw what I look like.

Short, yes. I'd already figured as much. I was surprised, though, how young my face looked, my skin smooth and unlined. I couldn't be older than fourteen... maybe fifteen at the most. No wonder everyone kept calling me 'boy' and 'kid'. My hair was a pale, flaxen blonde, just short enough to keep from falling in my eyes but long enough to get disheveled, which it was. The dark glass didn't give me much in the way of color, but I was fairly certain my eyes were blue. Just a typical German boy, nothing extraordinary about me except my diminutive height, nothing to mark me as special. I could be any boy in Berlin.

Disappointed and a little frustrated, I raked fingers through my hair and then froze. What was that movement in the reflection? Was someone behind me?

I whipped around to look, and just managed to glimpse someone ducking back around a corner. My heart thudded a little louder, and I started walking again. I kept to a steady pace, eyes forward, and the next time I passed a window with the right angle I threw a quick peek at it. Yes, someone was following me. That alone would have been enough to strike up fresh panic within me, but he was carrying a camera too. As I watched, he lifted it and aimed the telescope lens my way.

Dread licked at the back of my throat, and with some difficulty I swallowed it back. I did not know why anybody would want to follow me, let alone take pictures, because surely a nondescript kid like me was unimportant. But this person was doing exactly that, and the reasons could not be friendly. I could run, right now, and maybe get away. Caution, though, said I shouldn't give away that I'd spotted him. I should play dumb, be smart. If I could hide, and let him think he'd just lost me, that would be best.

We walked on for another fifteen minutes, during which he probably took dozens more photos of me, before I saw my chance. A building that once stood at the upcoming corner looked to have been demolished completely, leaving nothing but some of the frame and old piles of bricks. I pretended to turn onto the cross street and then promptly dove behind a half-destroyed wall, ducking and scurrying along it until I could crawl behind a heap of lumber scraps. Tensely I waited, crouched on the freezing ground. After a few minutes I could hear the soft tread of his shoes, easy to pick out in the total silence. At first he was moving quickly, thinking he'd fallen behind, but when he turned around the corner I could hear him hesitate. The footsteps faltered, then stopped completely. He could no longer see me, and that probably concerned him. I could practically feel it when he turned to look at the wreckage of the building, thinking it over.

I could have crawled further away, to the rear alley, and slipped away. But the ground was littered with debris, he was so close, and Berlin's streets empty of traffic. He'd hear me for sure. I kept my breathing light and prayed for him to just keep walking.

He did not. He took one step off the sidewalk, and I heard broken glass crunch under his shoe. I was just preparing myself for a sudden dash to the alley, and hoping I'd be able to outrun him, when the silence was abruptly invaded by a distant thumping noise. It got less and less distant with each passing second, refining itself into some sort of music, until it was right on top of us and sending vibrations through the ground. I couldn't hear myself think.

"Hey there!" someone called out, over the din. "Hey you, with the camera! You know your way around this place? I got a little turned around at the last intersection. _Crazy_ traffic in this city, huh?"

No response. I peeked over the edge of my cover and saw the man with the camera scowling at the car, but from this angle I couldn't see the driver. His music, though, would nicely cover any noise that I made. I was too grateful to stop and wonder if it was anything more than a coincidence, and started picking my way across the lot.

"I don't know this neighborhood so good; I came to pick up some new music for my deejay job. Oh hey, I hope you're not an informant or anything, because this tune I'm playing now is seriously banned. It'd be awful if you took a picture of me right now, totally awful. Isn't the music great?" Unbelievably, the volume knob could apparently go higher, because he proceeded to turn it up. When I peeked again, I could see the cameraman frantically snapping photos of the car and its license plate, apparently having forgotten all about me. I felt sorry for the man in the car, but I breathed a quick thank-you and sprinted into the alley. Seconds after I had done so, I heard the squeal of tires peeling out, and an anguished cry following on the heels of the music.

"Give me back my camera!"

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.


	2. part II

_What good fortune for governments that people do not think._

_- Adolf Hitler_

The line was not moving, in either sense of the word. It did not inch along, gradually shortening itself, and neither did anyone within it so much as fidget. They simply waited, planted to the sidewalk, hunched within their coats to hide from the cold. Nobody even looked at me as I followed the seemingly endless string of people, down the rest of the block and around the corner. It finally terminated at the doorstep of a little shop, where a bored man in an apron was taking green coupons in exchange for tickets. A handful of people loitered about the shop entrance, making use of a few small tables and some chairs, and when someone within the shop called out a number everyone hurried to check their tickets. The smell of baking bread wafted out when the lucky shopper scurried inside, and a vague rumble in my stomach informed me I was hungry.

But whatever those little coupons were, I didn't have one. And I wasn't about to wait in that hideous line to find out if the shopkeeper was inclined to show pity on a lost amnesiac. Resigned to my growling stomach, I sighed and turned away.

I hadn't taken more than a step back to the street, though, when I stopped again. Something in that line was moving after all, but it was no person. It was a cat, actually, winding its way between the legs of waiting patrons, steadily weaving closer to the head of the line and to me. Slitted eyes fixed on me with unnerving intensity, and I stepped back without thinking.

No one else seemed to notice the cat, even with that long tail gliding over several unsuspecting legs. It was pretty to look at, fur so sleek and the color of dark gray ash, but something about its stare made me uneasy. Almost afraid. Silly to be afraid of an alleycat, but I noticed that I'd backed up three more steps as it came closer. Perhaps I should just get going.

Too late. I turned back to the street, and nearly walked straight into two men in suits. I flinched backward, startled, and they grinned identical grins.

"Found you," one said.

"Not that you made it easy," added the other.

"But we're very good."

"And it's a small city."

"You didn't think you could hide from us forever, did you?"

Some sort of sound escaped my mouth, but nothing close to intelligible speech. Their smiles were positively sharklike.

"But here you are."

"And here we are."

"So come along."

"Boss has some questions for ya."

"And you don't want to make him wait."

They snagged each of my arms at the elbow before I could back away, and hustled me away from the street. The waiting shoppers scattered out of our path, hid their faces, and pretended not to see. I was herded to the closest table and shoved into a rusting chair, damp and freezing to the touch, and my grinning captors took the seats to my right and left. I forgot to be nervous about them, though, the second I saw their 'boss'. Dressed immaculately in a black suit, bigger than anyone else at that table, he laced his fingers together and simply stared at me in silence. At least, I assume he stared at me. In spite of the thick gray clouds overhead, he wore sunglasses as black and opaque as ink.

I shivered under his unseen gaze, wishing I could not feel the cold of the metal seep so thoroughly through my cordoroys, and licked my lips. "Wh-what do you want with me?"

"Your questions, irrelevant."

He spoke in monotone, his voice cold and flat as this chair. The gray cat jumped into his lap and idly he scratched it under the chin, but I don't think he looked away from my face for so much as a second. "Our questions, relevant. Your answers, expected. Do not resist."

With the three of them surrounding just the one of me, it didn't seem to be much of an option anyway. I nodded quickly.

"State name."

"I don't know."

The other two tensed in their seats. "Is that supposed to be an answer?"

"Are you refusing to cooperate?"

"Do you think we can't make you answer?"

"No, wait, I mean it! It's true, I really don't know my own name, I've been trying really hard to remember all day but I just can't, I think I must have hit my head or something because I don't remember anything about who I am…" I ran out of oxygen and had to gulp for more. "It's the truth. I swear it."

"Answer, accepted," the boss stated calmly, and the other two relaxed. For some reason, they exchanged smug looks. "Suggestion, cease trying."

"Huh? You mean I shouldn't -"

"Mental strain, unpleasant and unproductive. Identity, unimportant."

"But I -"

"Suggestion, cease interruptions."

I picked up on the warning, and shut my mouth. The cat had begun to purr, under the languid stroking of its master, and stared at me haughtily.

"List activities today."

"Y-you mean, what I've done? I haven't done anything, since - well, from the part that I remember. Except wander around and be lost."

"Conversations?"

"I haven't had any – well, I talked to some construction workers for a minute. Not long."

"Has been noted. Approached by others?"

Did he- he already _knew_ about the construction workers? How?

"Approached by others?" he repeated, a thin edge of impatience to the words. Quickly I shook my head.

"No, nobody."

"You'd better be telling us the truth," said the one to my left. "Berlin has its share of the criminal underworld; radical reactionaries that plot against the state and our Good Chairman. Maybe you saw one? Talked to one? Would you hide that from us?"

"No, I swear, I haven't talked to anyone -"

"You could be lying about that, of course," picked up the one on my right. "You'd lie to protect the radicals, if you're one of them."

"No! I don't know what a radical, um, reactionary even is. What do they hate about the state?"

Both of them stiffened. "Are you saying there's _anything_ to hate about our government?"

"I didn't mean that," I hurried to say, sensing a sharp spike in hostility at the table. "I didn't. I just didn't understand, that's all, don't understand any of it."

"Comprehension unnecessary," the man with the cat informed me. "Loyalty, necessary. Loyalty to Berlin, to the German Democratic Republic, to our Good Chairman."

"Who is -" I bit my tongue when the others tensed, and swallowed back the unwelcome question. "I mean, I am loyal. I am a good German. I would never hurt anyone; I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm just lost. I just want to find out how to go home."

I was doing my best, but the second those words left my mouth I had a feeling I'd said something wrong. His head tilted ever so slightly, and I could almost see those hidden eyes narrowing with renewed suspicion.

The cat's throaty purring was the only noise at our table for several seconds. A tiny purple pin stuck in the quiet man's jacket lapel had caught my eye, and now I was having a hard time looking away. The face symbol had a vicious, cruel feel to it that made my stomach clench with dread.

"Presence," he finally said, "near the wall, noted."

"The wall?" echoed the one to my left, looking surprised and extremely displeased. "He was by the wall?"

"What were you doing by the wall?"

"I don't know, I was lost -"

"How did you even find it so fast?"

"Find it?" I repeated faintly. "Is it… hidden? I didn't know I wasn't supposed to find it, but it's very big and goes on for a long way. It's hard to miss."

"I suppose next you'll be wanting to see what's on the other side."

"Why, what's on the other..." I trailed off too late when I saw their faces. The one across from me showed no visible emotion, but it didn't matter. He was waiting for me to finish the question, I could see it in the way his hand had paused just short of petting his cat.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. It doesn't matter what's on the other side, I don't care about that at all."

Silence, again. After an eternity he finally dropped his hand back onto the waiting cat, whose purr broke the quiet. The other two looked from me to him, uncertainty in their eyes.

"Well, boss?"

"Does he pass, or fail?"

"Behavior, acceptable," he answered, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "However, discontent evident. Questions, numerous. Capacity for independent thought detected. Re-education, necessary."

Relief that I'd almost been ready to feel was promptly shot to hell, panic blaring fresh alarms in my mind. "Re-education? What's that?"

"Oh, nothing to be afraid of," the one to my right answered airily. "You just need to come with us for a little drive."

"Yes, just back to headquarters. You won't be there for long."

The two of them pushed their chairs back to stand, while icy horror froze me to mine. I don't know anything in this place, not even my own name, but I did know that I did not want to go to their headquarters. That purple face leered at me, baring its fangs and waiting to swallow me whole.

A siren cut through my paralyzing terror. Everyone looked to the street when a police cruiser, lights whirling, skidded around the corner and pulled up to the shop. It almost rolled up directly over the curb before finally screeching to a halt, and a man in a suit did not even wait before the car was completely still before jumping out of the passenger side.

"Attention, ladies and gentlemen!" Smartly he flipped open a badge and held it high. "I do not wish to cause panic, but we have received good information that a bomb has been planted by this shop. Please depart slowly and without -"

A woman screamed, and chaos erupted. Every person within earshot tried to run in a different direction, and what had been a quiet and unmoving line exploded into a mob. My own instinct to run, already clamoring at me for several minutes, finally got its due and I scrambled up and over the back of the chair, tipping it over and leaping clear at the last second.

"Hey! C'mere, you!"

One of the pair lunged at me but I darted away, and a heavyset man fleeing the shop bowled straight into him.

"He's gettin' away!" the other hollered, and I prayed some kind of fleeting, jumbled prayer to the heavens that it was true. Frantically I darted between and around the panicking crowd, putting my small size to good use, not daring to waste a second on looking over my shoulder. I didn't have to look to know that they had to be right behind me; that invisible stare was boring into my back, waiting for me to be caught and brought back to him –

"Wait!"

A hand latched itself onto my forearm and I instinctively swung around, punching wildly at whichever of the two had grabbed me.

It was neither. A young policeman ducked my crazy swing, wide-eyed and startled, but tightened his grip on my arm.

"Sorry! But it's okay I'm not here to hurt you and you have to come with me -"

"Let me go! Let me go!" I was beyond panic; I thrashed and kicked and hit with blind ferocity. I don't know what I did but I must have hit something vital, because I heard a squawk of pain and his grasp on my arm loosened abruptly. Without wasting any time on actually looking, I tore away and sprinted through the crowd. I was nearly run over by someone trying to barrel his way into the shop; apparently some people were ready to risk death if they could just steal a loaf of bread in the process. The frenzy swirled around me, hiding me, and I dodged and twisted and turned until even I didn't know which direction I was going anymore. It didn't matter, so long as it was away from here.

Most of the mob was stampeding down the street and I joined them. I'd hoped I would blend in, but after a few seconds I could hear the police siren shrieking behind us. An alleyway opened onto the street and I nearly threw myself sideways into it, with another hope that perhaps they hadn't seen that. No such luck. Even over the shouts of the crowd, I could hear the sharp screech of brakes. Nothing for it but to run again.

My sneakers dug against the concrete and I pounded down the alleyway, adrenaline surging through my blood. With the end of one building, I hit an intersection and broke to the right; distantly, over the sound of my hard breathing, I heard a shout to stop. Ignoring it, I pelted down this new way and turned again when I could, desperately hoping I could lose them in this maze.

I glimpsed a new street ahead and dashed toward it, only to skid to a stop when the police car crawled past. I didn't think I'd been spotted, but quickly I backtracked and picked a new alleyway. This time I didn't run, trying to keep my footsteps light, not to mention catch my breath. The cold knifed into my lungs, and I exhaled giant plumes of white vapor with every gasp. I couldn't hear anyone chasing me. I could hear nothing but the quiet, tortured sound of my own breathing.

This time, when I approached a new street, there was no sign of any police. There was another kind of car though, a black one, its windows tinted so darkly I could see no sign of anyone inside. It too was inching along down the street, well ahead of me when I dared peep around the corner. I waited until it was out of sight, counted to twenty, and crept back out into the open. A nearby spokewheel intersection gave me five different streets to choose from, five different ways to escape. I picked one at random and started trotting along it, surrounded by silence. There were no more cars, no more pursuers, no more people at all. I had succeeded in losing them.

Of course, I'd also lost myself - again.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.


	3. part III

_There's something happening here… what it is, ain't exactly clear. _

_There's a man with a gun over there, telling me I've got to beware._

_- Buffalo Springfield_

I must have wandered the tiny streets of Berlin for over an hour, after that. What scant sunlight there had been was starting to dim, and uneasily I thought about the approaching night. Would I have to sleep in an alley somewhere, on some damp and unforgiving bed of sidewalk with nothing but newspapers to keep away the cold? I was so busy fretting about it that I didn't really notice which way I walked, and nearly bumped into a man standing on the corner.

"Hey, watch it!"

"Bekummert." I jumped back on reflex, and only belatedly realized I'd heard that voice before. When I looked up and made eye contact with the mustached construction worker, he groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Oh. _You_ again. Back to trample all over more of my work sites? You'll have to wait; this one hasn't even gotten started yet." Grouchily he turned his attention back to the little notebook he'd been scribbling in.

"Nein," I mumbled, retreating another step. "I didn't mean to come this way – or I guess, I didn't exactly know which way I was going at all. I'm still lost."

"You don't say."

His tone was as curt and uninterested as the rest of him, pointedly frowning at his little notebook and then the pavement. Of course he didn't care. Why would he? Why would anyone?

Indeed. Why _would_ anyone care about me?

"I met someone today, that asked me some questions," I said tentatively, and got a brief sideways glance for it. "He wore sunglasses, and had a pet cat."

"That so."

"I told him that I talked to you today. He already knew about it."

A smirk, this time, directed at nothing in particular. "Course he did. That one knows lots of things. Never a good idea to underestimate him."

A chill that had nothing to do with the weather prickled at my skin. "But how? I just talked to you for a minute…"

"Simple. I called in and reported it."

The matter-of-fact answer hit me neatly in the chest, like a punch. I could feel cold dread welling up inside me again, and hear it in my voice when I spoke.

"Why?"

"Because I am a good German, of course. Aren't you?" He grinned mirthlessly and shut his notebook with a snap. "I am loyal to my state. So when the state wants to know where you are and what you've been doing, I give my report."

"But why do they want to know? Why do they care?"

"Oh, don't misunderstand." He took a casual step forward and I promptly backed up. "You're not special, or anything like that. You're just new. They have to keep tabs on you for a little while, to make sure you're not going to be trouble. It was the same for me and my crew, once."

"You mean…"

"That's right. A long time ago." His gaze shifted off of me and somewhere into the distance, looking into the past. "We were the strangers once, lost souls in a new world. But we learned to get along in this city, to work hard for the Good Chairman, and you know what? Now we never think about what we used to be. Who cares? The state takes good care of us. There's no reason to want anything else. Anyone who does is just a selfish imperialistischen… who needs a little re-education."

Another step. I backed up again.

"Did you ever remember anything?" My voice had stretched itself tight, and was almost inaudible. "About who you were, once?"

"We did." Another smile quirked at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing worth missing."

He took one more step, and I snapped into a sprint. Running was something I'd been doing too much of today. He didn't even try to chase me.

"Run all you like!" he laughed, the sound echoing in the gray silence around us. "You can't escape! They'll never let you get close!"

* * *

I did run, not knowing what else to do. The empty streets of Berlin slipped by in endless rows of weathered concrete, every building as blank-faced as the next. The shadowy places between them were getting darker, and in my imagination I could see eyes watching me from within their depths. Maybe it was paranoia, maybe it wasn't. In a city where even the road workers reported their conversations, who could ever feel safe? Or even, at least, alone?

I wondered if it was possible to be homesick without actually remembering my home.

Eventually the frantic run subsided to a light jog, then a fast walk, and finally back to weary shuffling along the sidewalks. The worker was right; I could run all I liked, but it wasn't as if I knew which way to go. I let the streets lead me instead, following one after another, until the last of them brought me to the edge of the city's park. Most of the leaves had dropped, with only the dull and dusty green of pines to give it any color, but it was still more attractive a sight than the ugly buildings behind me. With hardly any hesitation, I left the streets behind.

Treptower Park was as quiet as the rest of the city, but at least – thanks to the scuffling of birds and squirrels – it was not so eerily still. In the distance, on one of the plazas, I could see a couple of teenagers playing hockey, and I heard their laughter. A few snowflakes drifted lazily through the dusk, lightly sprinkling the park, and one by one the streetlamps flickered on.

Overlooking the peaceful scene, from atop a small hill, was the massive statue of a soldier. I could see the gleam of lights against the cast-iron uniform, and the sword he carried, but in the growing darkness I couldn't quite make out his face. That made me uneasy, for some reason, so I wandered closer. Steps had been cut into the hillside, leading to the base pedestal, and I wanted to read the name.

"Want to see the troll, have to pay a toll," someone sang playfully, and I jumped. In the fitful light I hadn't noticed the man idling on the wrought iron fence. He leaned back, hanging onto the rail to stay upright, and grinned. It was a grin uncomfortably similar to that of the pair by the bakery this afternoon. "Or did you just plan on walking up to the Chairman like you had some kind of right? Whatever that is."

Instant dread clamped at my stomach and I wasted no time standing around to apologize. Pivoting neatly on my sneakers, I turned to bolt and made it exactly half of one step before someone shoved a hard hand against my shoulder. I stumbled backward, nearly fell, and all the while I could hear my heartbeat frantically accelerating. The new arrival snickered.

"Did you see that? I think he was trying to run, just now. It's almost like he doesn't want to see the Good Chairman after all."

"Imagine not wanting to look at such a pretty face." Both of them laughed, like it was a big joke. A whimper stuck in my throat and I tried to scramble away to the side, only for a third one to block my way.

"Hold on, pipsqueak. No need to panic. We don't think he's much to look at either, so we won't tell."

I backed up, but now all three were circling me like sharks, with a glitter in their eyes just as predatory. They all wore scuffed leather aviation jackets, and by chance a gleam of lamplight hit a tiny purple pin in their collars.

"D-do you work for the man with the cat?"

The third one hissed in irritation. "Don't insult me. Do I look like I take orders from that stuffy suit?"

"Then what do you want with me?" I wailed.

"_I_ don't want anything from you. I never wanted you here in the first place, and I told the Chairman it was a bad idea to put you here. But when does that egotist ever listen to me? Berlin would run a lot more smoothly if he did. And we'd have a lot less trash on the streets."

He shot me an ugly glower, just to carry home the point.

"I don't want to be here either," I said quickly, the words tumbling out of me in a rush. "I don't know why I am or why everybody's watching me and trying to catch me but I'll leave, if you just tell me which way to go. Please, just tell me how and I promise I'll go."

A wide, sinister smile kept growing as I chattered, and he chuckled. "He wants me to help him escape. Isn't that cute, boys?"

"Adorable."

"You just want to pinch his cheeks."

Unhappily I watched his smile vanish. "I'm not here to help you escape, pipsqueak. I'm not interested in letting you go back over to the enemy. I'm here to make sure you won't become the Chairman's next mindless yes-man, because he already has plenty. And the surest way to make sure of it…" He flicked his wrist, snapping open a switchblade. Terror froze up in my throat, like a chunk of ice that I could not swallow. "I'm just gonna take out the trash."

"Please," I croaked, backing up. The other two immediately closed in behind me, preventing any escape. "Don't. I've never done anything to you."

He tilted his head to the side, looking mildly amused. "Actually, you have. You just don't remember any of it."

He adjusted his knife in his hand, and was tensing with preparation when something shot out of the darkness and struck him on the temple. It happened so unexpectedly that I didn't even jump like the other two did; I simply stared as he yelped and slapped a hand to his face. The plastic hockey puck hit the ground and skittered to the bottom step.

"Would you look at that," someone drawled, and every one of our heads turned in unison. Twenty paces away a lanky blonde teen propped his hockey stick across his shoulders, looking bored. "I missed."

"I'll say you missed," complained the redhead next to him. "The goal is actually _behind you_. That has got to be the worst aim I have ever seen! And here you've been bragging you're a shoo-in for the German team. Pitiful."

The blonde shrugged. "Guess I need more practice."

"Guess so."

The man with the knife drew his hand away from his face and stared at the blood on his fingertips, astonished rage gathering in his eyes.

"You… fucking street mongrels. I'll kill you both for that! I'll cut you open and leave you to bleed to death in this park, and the pigeons will have eaten your eyeballs before anyone even finds you."

The hockey boys looked properly impressed. "I think we pissed him off, bro," the redhead whispered none-too-quietly.

"I think I'm about to get my practice." The blonde smiled, not kindly, and dropped his stick to a loose guarding stance in front of his chest. "Come on, flyboys. Take your best shot."

The two behind me yanked out knives of their own and rushed forward, bellowing warlike whoops of bloodlust, and I took the chance to run the opposite way. Or tried to. I hadn't managed more than a step before a hand snagged my shirt and yanked hard, throwing me back against the iron railing. It hit me hard in the small of my back and I winced.

"Not so fast, pipsqueak," my attacker sneered, and thrust his knife at my chest. Faster than I would have thought possible, I spun to the right and managed to just avoid him. My hands closed over the cold metal rail and I pulled, driven by adrenaline and instinct. Without quite realizing what I was doing, I flipped my body neatly up and over the short fence and landed in a perfect crouch.

_Oh._ I was more startled by my sudden display of agility than the other man, who gaped at me before coming to his senses and climbing over the rail. No time to wonder at my own unexpected gymnastics before I was running, slipping a bit on the damp grass when I broke into a sudden sprint. I could hear his heavy breathing behind me, but climbing over the fence had slowed him down and it hadn't slowed me down at all. I broke stride and darted sharply to my left, far more quickly than he could react, and launched myself back over the rail without any hesitation at all. It was ridiculously easy, like I'd been doing this all my life, and when I hit the ground I hit it running. The concrete gave better purchase than the grass, and I whisked past the others before they even noticed me.

Not that my attackers could have done anything about it. I didn't take the time to stop and stare, but for all their snarling and waving of knives they seemed to be having a hard time against the boys and their hockey sticks. I thought I heard the redhead laughing as he knocked his opponent to the ground, but by then I'd already passed them by and had no intention of stopping. What I wanted was to run into the trees and hide, but a quick glance over my shoulder told me that the third man was still on my heels. Jumping the rail again had bought me maybe twenty seconds, enough to keep me alive but not much more.

I kept to the path and ran past the war memorial, its hulking presence looming like death over the park. Tiny flecks of snow, still wafting gently down from the sky, stung my eyes as I ran through them at top speed. It was getting more difficult to see where I was going.

I could at least see when the path twisted to run alongside the river, with a split turning into a bridge. The Spree was inky black under the night sky, its waters running swift and silent. A massive bridgehouse, on the far side of the river, gave hope of somewhere to hide and eagerly I dashed toward it. This was an old bridge, though, its wood warped by decades of wet weather, and my sneaker caught the edge of a plank in the worst way. I hit the deck with a grunt, all the breath knocked right out of me.

"Got you!" he crowed somewhere behind me, and I could feel the vibrations of his heavy tread pounding through the bridge. I scrambled to my feet, still wheezing, and knew I would not be able to outrun him. So I did what came so naturally to my body and leapt over the rail, bracing my feet neatly against the bridge and hanging as far back as my short arms would allow.

"Little wascher," he swore, when he caught up to me. "You are slippery. This is why I never wanted you here. It's a mistake I'll fix right now."

He slashed at my face, but I let go with my left hand and swung back out of range, executing a neat counterclockwise spin along the rail until I was facing forward again. He growled and stabbed again, but I transferred my weight back to the left and swung clear, then back again, avoiding the next swipe. Panic was flowing through my bloodstream, but it was a peculiar, controlled panic that didn't interfere with my struggle for survival so much as help it, fueling the adrenaline that kept me just outside the range of his knife. My footwork and reflexes were astonishingly fast, doing most of the thinking for me.

"Hold still, you little monkey!" he screeched, and tried to stab his switchblade right through my hand. I jerked it aside in time, but he snatched at my other hand and yanked me closer, ready to kill. I surprised us both by punching him in the nose - clumsily, yes, but he was the one who'd yanked my arm so hard and so fast. My fist had momentum behind it that made him squawk and stumble backwards. He released my wrist, and I was already preparing to grab at the railing again as I fell back, but then one last wild swipe on his part finally hit home. A bright, sizzling pain zipped its way from chin to cheekbone, so sharp that I lost both timing and balance. The railing slipped away underneath my palm, smooth and indifferent, and that was the end of it. I dropped into the empty night air like a rock.

"Drown and die, you miserable brat!" he screamed, and I hit the surface of the Spree with a cold, hard slap. In the next second I'd been completely submerged, in the freezing water that was black as blindness, too shocked to even struggle. The cold drove into my body like I was being crushed to death by icicles, and I could do nothing to stop it.

But then I bobbed back up to the surface, and that galvanized some kind of reaction. Frantically I gasped for air and flailed my arms and legs, but - pleasant surprise - I must not know how to swim. I went under, gulping an unwelcome mouthful of river water, then managed to get my head above water with a lot of wild kicking. The initial shock might have been excruciating, but now I could feel a numbness stealing through my body that was worse. I didn't feel the cold as much, but my body was stiff, my arms and legs reacting sluggishly no matter how hard I fought to keep at the surface. The banks of the river rolled past at a surprising speed, evidence of how fast the river was carrying me, and seemed a million meters away. Again I went under, and this time I only managed to get my upturned face back up above the surface. I could feel my heartbeat slowing, even in spite of all my struggles, and the weight of my body trying to drag me back underneath. Maybe I would drown and die, after all.

Something rapped me on the head before I could, hard enough to hurt, even though I didn't have the breath to yelp. "Go on, grab it!" someone shouted, but the voice sounded very distant compared to the rushing water around me. A lot of swearing followed, and again something wooden smacked me on the head, this time much harder.

It was almost impossible to move my arm, but somehow I managed to get it out of the water and I groped unsuccessfully in the darkness. The effort distracted me from trying to stay afloat, and again the river pulled me under. I had no air in my lungs to speak of and I tried to kick myself up, but my legs didn't seem much inclined to move anymore.

The current carried me almost straight into a hard wooden staff. I couldn't see it, but I felt it when I collided with it nose-first. Surprised, I pawed at it with numbed hands and managed to get a grip before the river could pull me away. Immediately my progress stopped short, the tenuous lifeline holding me fast. Someone heaved back on the other end and managed to pull me half out of the water, some grunting and swearing now mixed in with the gurgle of the Spree. One more hard tug, and I was hauled straight out of the water and dumped on the ground. I was exhausted, but too frozen stiff to even bend over and fall to the earth; I simply knelt and struggled to cough up the water sloshing in my lungs.

"Better throw him back, he's too small," someone joked, and there were snide chuckles.

"Shaddup, both of you." A gruff voice, older than the other two, cut short the laughter, and I heard the smack of someone getting whacked upside the head. "And get out of my way before I throw you in myself. Hooligans." Somebody knelt beside me, clapping me on the back with a wide and heavy hand. "That's right, get it all out, nice and easy-like." I hacked up a few more thimblefuls of the stuff, and he uttered an approving grunt. "Good kid. Chin up." He tilted my face up without bothering to wait for me to do it, and shone a pen flashlight in my eyes. Blinded, I flinched and tried to look away, but his grip was stronger.

"Pupils contracting normally, that's a good sign. Looks like you'll live. Sorry to disappoint you if you were aiming for otherwise, which is Christ-almighty the only reason _I _can think of for taking a swim in sodding November. Haven't you ever heard of pneumonia?"

I didn't have the energy to argue with him, and only huddled miserably on the bricks. He just shook his head and muttered a few more choice words under his breath, throwing the tiny flashlight into a bag marked with the medical red cross. A doctor? With swift and clinical efficiency he examined the cut on my cheek, which I'd forgotten about. His fingertips pressing against the wound hurt, but I was relieved enough to feel anything at all that I didn't complain. My mind was starting to wake up again, and I noticed the hockey stick in front of me. This what had pulled me to safety. The two boys that had saved me - apparently twice - were standing a few steps back, looking a little disheveled but uninjured. The blonde wasn't paying any attention to me, intent on fixing his hair with a comb and a pocket mirror. The redhead was lighting a cigarette, but when he caught my gaze he grinned. Freckles dusted his nose and cheekbones, coloring his smile with a touch of perpetual mischief.

"You look confused," he observed. "Too much time in the cold drink?"

"Wh-why d-did you h-help?" I could barely get the words through my chattering teeth. "They - knives."

"Ja, I know it wasn't very fair, but they're the ones that wanted to pick a fight three-on-one. They had it coming to them."

He was answering the wrong question. I shook my head, or tried to. I was still very stiff. "N-nein. Why d-did you help _me?_"

"Why shouldn't we? You're our friend."

Huh? "Ouch!" I squeaked, when the doctor rubbed a stinging ointment into my cheek, and tried to pull away.

"Hold still," he barked, and gripped my chin with viselike intensity while he slapped a bandage over the cut. "There, at least now we know you won't bleed to death before keeling over from the hypothermia. Can you stand? Time to get going; the goon squad will be coming back with more of their friends."

He hauled me to my feet without waiting for an answer, and tried to pull me forward, but wary distrust flared up within me and I dug my heels into the sidewalk.

"No!"

"I beg your fucking pardon? What did you just say?"

"No. Let me go." I tried to tug my elbow out of his grasp, unsuccessfully. "I don't want to go with you."

"Oh I think you do."

"I don't know you. I don't know any of you, why should I trust you?"

"You mean aside from the fact that we just saved your life?"

I shrunk under his glare. "Those men said they did not work for the man with the cat. Maybe you saved me because you do. What if you are taking me to his headquarters so I can be 're-educated'?"

Both of the hockey boys snorted, like I'd said something funny. The doctor's eyes looked ready to pop right out of his skull.

"You think _I_ work for that- that... walking wiretap? Do I need to recheck your pupils for brain damage? We are your friends, we are here to help you, and that means taking you back to our headquarters before you freeze into a munchkin-sized ice sculpture to decorate this park. And no," he added, when I opened my mouth, "you don't know that I'm telling the truth. But let me ask you this, genius. Are you doing that much better on your own? All day you've done nothing but wander around this city, talk to all the wrong people, pinning a big red sign on your shirt that screams 'Come and get me, Stasi!', get yourself lost, get yourself attacked, hit _and run away from_ anyone that's actually tried to _help_ you, and then just for good measure throw yourself into a river that would make a beluga whale flinch and dive for the hot tub. Oh yes, your chances for survival are just fucking terrific. Now stop wasting my fucking time and start fucking moving those feet. _Now._"

I flinched and started walking, making no more protest as he tugged me along. The hockey boys fell in on either side of us, big smirks on their faces, but they remained quiet as we left the park and made for the closest street corner. The snow, scant though it may have been, had already stopped and the night was perfectly still and silent again. Well, perfectly silent except for the muttering coming from the car parked by the curb. The hood was propped open, and I could see the bottom half of someone bent over and tinkering with the engine.

"So you didn't like the oil and gasoline combination tank... and you didn't like the new radiator... but maybe if I- ah, hmm. Is the fuel injection a bit clogged? I could probably -" The redhead poked him lightly in the behind with his hockey stick and he yelped, bolting upright and banging his head on the hood. "Ouch! Hey, you two..." He trailed off when he saw me and the doctor, and whatever he was about to say to the laughing pair of boys was quickly forgotten.

"Oh, you found him! Er, so soon?"

"It isn't that big of a park," the doctor answered testily. "What did you do to my nice Trabant?"

"Nothing that wouldn't improve it! I thought the engine sounded a little funny and -"

"And if I see so much as _one_ tendril of smoke coming out from under that hood, I swear to God I will stuff you under there and not let you out until it's fixed. Car running at the time, or not. Get me?"

"Got ya," he mumbled sheepishly. His eyes darted down to me and he smiled, or at least I thought he did. Most of his face was obscured by a thick knitted scarf and a pair of absurdly bright blue earmuffs.

"Now, please tell me that thing can at least get us back to the club."

"It can absolutely get us back to the club. Pile in, everyone!"

"I call shotgun!"

"No you don't," the doctor snapped, slapping a hand over the passenger door when the redhead tried to open it. "You're in the back, both of you. Make yourselves useful and keep him warm with your body heat; I'd like it if he stays alive until we get there."

"Aww..." they complained in unison, but obediently climbed into the backseat. The blonde herded me in before him, not very gently, and almost whacked me in the forehead with his precious hockey stick. It was a little too crowded, both boys were very tall with long legs that were crushed awkwardly against the backs of the seats in front of us. I wanted to complain when they sandwiched me between them, but I was still shivering uncontrollably and couldn't bring myself to argue. Maybe they did smell like cigarette smoke, and the car was stuffy with all five of us wedged inside, but at least this way it was warmer. The man with the earmuffs turned the key, everyone tensed just a little when the engine coughed, and there was a collective sigh of relief when it rumbled to life.

"Oh, and guess what?" he chirped. "I managed to enhance the radio antenna! We can get Radio Free Europe now. It's the cure for your common tyranny!"

He twisted the volume knob, shifted into gear, and tore away from the curb. And for a little while, at least, the night was not so silent.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.


	4. part IV

_The most potent weapon of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed._

_- Steven Biko_

We drove for some while, but saw so few other cars out on the road I could have counted them on two hands. Everyone stiffened whenever we did pass one, and the brothers - twins, they told me - would shove my head down and squeeze me between them until I could barely breathe. The mechanic with earmuffs drove cautiously, glancing repeatedly in his rear view mirror, and every now and then he'd pause and make a U-turn. I was starting to feel a touch of nausea, with all the sudden stops and swings, and I was grateful when he pulled up to a curb and turned off the engine. Clumsily I stumbled out of the car after everyone else, still soaking wet and feeling pretty miserable about it. Exhaustion, too, was creeping its unwelcome way into my bones. I had been running and hiding for too much of the day, strained myself too hard in weather that was too cold, and I ached. Hunger gnawed at my stomach. So when the redhead clapped an arm over my shoulders and told me to cheer up, that I was nearly safe, I could do nothing but shoot him a sulky glare. He laughed, and steered me to a squat building, its door a rather scratched and faded orange. A painted sign hung over it, but the meager light of streetlamps barely touched it. _The Ar..._ something. I couldn't quite make out the final letter. I was still squinting at it when the doctor banged impatiently on the door.

It did not open, but a slat of wood slid aside to reveal someone's eyes. "Who goes there? Friend or foe?"

"Shut the fuck up and open the damn door. It is not a pleasant night out here."

"You didn't give the countersign." The voice sounded petulant. The doctor snarled.

"If you don't open this door in one second, my countersign is going to be me reaching through that ridiculous slot and yanking you right through it by your nose. Do you want to test me? Do you?"

"Friend," the voice acknowledged glumly, and I heard the tumble of locks before the handle turned and the door opened inward. The one who'd opened it glowered at the doctor and everyone else that came stomping through, all except for me. For just a second, his suspicious glare softened into a look of pity, but then he turned his concentration back on re-locking the door and it was gone. I was distracted too, taking in my new surroundings. It was a big room, this, packed with tables and chairs and barstools that were nearly all empty. A fancy-looking sound system was playing the same station we'd been listening to in the car, and some of the floor had been kept clear, for dancing I guess. It looked like a nightclub, but the house lights were up, and nobody seemed to be paying attention to the radio.

They were all looking at me instead.

I flushed under the collective stare and instinctively tried to back away, but the arm draped around me held me firm. One man lowered his newspaper to the table and studied me coolly, and I realized he looked familiar. Wasn't that the detective that started such a scare at the bakery? He raised an eyebrow at my sodden clothes, and the bandage on my left cheek.

"What, didn't have time to set him on fire as well?"

He directed that to the redhead by my side, who looked wounded. "Why is it always _my_ fault? At least we managed to actually find him and bring him in. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"You're a hero to the cause. Now, somebody get that boy into some dry clothes, and find him something to eat. He'll be needing all the energy he can get."

"Yessir, right away sir!" Someone in a snazzy black suit and mirrored sunglasses bounded forward and snatched my wrist, tugging me away from the door. "One set of dry clothes, coming up. My partner and I usually keep a few changes up in the office, even if it ain't your size. Welcome to mah club, by the way, hottest spot in all Berlin for dangerous reactionary radicals. The conversation is excellent. Music that I'm allowed to play, not so much."

Up a tiny flight of stairs he led me, away from the crowd of stares, down a narrow corridor and then into a small office. Rapidly he pawed through the contents of a closet, plucking out various articles of clothing and throwing them on the moth-eaten sofa. "Too big, too big... definitely not your color, aha! Here ya are." He pinned a dark blue sweater to my shoulders and nodded approvingly. "Still kinda on the big side, but it'll do. Here's a pair of decent pants for ya, and take this coat and gloves. They're my deejay's, but he won't mind. More important to keep ya warm."

"Deejay," I repeated, remembering that strange incident earlier in the day.

"Yup! He's not here right now; he went to return someone's camera. We may be criminals, but we're not _thieves_. It's just too bad that the film inside was accidentally exposed to sunlight." He grinned, but I think it turned a little sad as he looked down at me. It was difficult to tell, with the sunglasses. Unexpectedly he ruffled my hair.

"I'm real sorry, kiddo."

"What for?"

"This is mah fault, what you got stuck in. I should'na let you go in on your own; you got caught and I couldn't help you."

I clutched the sweater to my chest, feeling strangely uneasy. "So, I know you?"

"Sure you do. You been working for me a long time. You're one of my best."

One of his best what? I opened my mouth to ask, but hesitated at the sound of a soft buzz. "What's that?"

"What is what?"

"That noise, I -" I twisted around, looking for its source, but the buzz wasn't coming from anywhere in the office. It was inside my own head. I rubbed it in irritation, wondering if it was just a hunger headache. "Uh, never mind."

He nodded, looking a little curious, but kept his questions to himself. "You better get changed, kiddo. We'll be waiting downstairs."

* * *

I did feel better in the new clothes, even if I was nearly swimming in them. Their warmth drew itself cozily around me, chasing away the last of my shivers, and I made do with simply rolling up the pants and sleeves. My shoes, still wet but unquestionably the only ones there that would fit me, I carried with me downstairs. Everyone looked up the second I entered the main room, and I flushed and looked to the floor. The constant stares were unnerving. It was like I was the most important person in the building.

"Are you hungry? I made some food for you. Well, I guess I didn't make it exactly, but I heated it up. It probably won't taste so good as it did earlier and I'm sorry that you couldn't have it then, but I guess it's better than nothing." The young policeman I'd hit earlier that day was standing in front of me, holding a plate of steamed cabbage and sausage. He looked so hopeful as he set it down on the nearest table, as if he were afraid I'd refuse. Not much chance of that; my stomach growled in anticipation and I slid into a chair without argument.

"Danke," I said shyly. I could still feel everyone watching me, even if they were pretending not to. "I'm sorry about -"

"Oh that? Don't worry about it, you didn't even break the skin." He tapped a faint bruise on his jaw and grinned. "You couldn't have known, after all. Starting a big panic was the only way we could think of to get you away from the Stasi, but I guess we didn't figure you could run so fast. It's funny, everyone says I talk too much, but you're the first person who's ever hit me before I could finish a sentence."

"And what a good idea," the redhead chimed in, grinning mercilessly. He breezed by and slid a mug of foaming beer to the edge of my plate; about a second later the doctor marched past and snatched it back.

"No, none of that for you. Coffee, nice and hot, someone get it for him now. And you, let the boy eat already, stop pestering him." He himself downed the beer in question, draining almost half the glass in one gulp.

"Yes sir."

Still feeling a bit conspicuous, I lifted a forkful of cabbage to my mouth and started eating. But I was so hungry that I quickly forgot my audience, eagerly devouring the hot - if slightly bland - dinner. I was near three-quarters done when I finally noticed the framed picture hanging on the wall in front of me, and the food turned to ash on my tongue. The face in the photo was _staring_ at me, looking straight at me, with a cruel glitter in his eyes that froze me to my seat. Strange, how red they were. His face, dark with stubble that didn't quite hide his hard jawline, leered at me like I was so much helpless prey just waiting to be eaten alive.

"Turns mah stomach too," the owner commiserated, and flipped the picture around to face the wall. "It's troublesome if the wrong people notice he's not on the wall, though, so he has to stay."

"Who is it?"

"Ah, that would be our Good Chairman, of course. He has only your best interests at heart, wants to feed and shelter and take good care of you. In return, you just have to belong to him until you die." He smiled in a resigned sort of way and shrugged. "Guess he thinks it's fair."

"I am in serious doubt that the word 'fair' exists within his vocabulary," the detective threw in wryly. He was cleaning his glasses as he approached us, and when he'd returned them to his face he turned to look at me. "Please finish quickly, if you're not done. I need you upstairs. There is not much time, and much to brief you on."

I hadn't finished, but the food still left on my plate didn't seem so appetizing anymore. Even if the picture had been flipped around, just being near it made my skin crawl, and I had the strangest feeling that the Good Chairman was looking at me anyway. I pushed back from the table.

"I'm done."

"Good. Come along."

I did not look back, but I knew everyone's gaze followed me out of the room.

* * *

Back in the little office, I put my shoes back on. They were still damp, but it was better than treading around in thin socks that were too big for me anyway. The detective wiped at a small chalkboard with an eraser, clearing it of delivery schedules, his face fixed with a frown of deep thought. He looked concerned, which made me nervous. Wearing the dry clothes and gobbling up food, I wanted to let myself believe the redhead. I wanted to think that I was safe, and that it was all over, the worst of it behind me. Watching the detective's expression, I had the sinking feeling that it wasn't true.

It was not nearly over.

"Are you adequately rested and refreshed?" he asked, abruptly drawing my attention back to the present. I shrugged.

"I'm still tired. But I feel a little better now, thank you."

"Good. You have a difficult mission ahead of you, and you'll need to be at your best to accomplish it."

"M-mission?"

"Yes. You have to cross the wall."

"Wall? What wall?"

"You know which wall."

Through those glasses he leveled me with a stare that was way too damn calm. I thought of barbed wire, and guards fiddling with their machine guns, and felt my hands start to shake.

"No. No way."

"Oh, there's a way," he assured me. "It was just a question of deducing it. I've analyzed the problem and have prepared a solution with a 93% chance of success."

"Ninety-three…" I choked the word out in disbelief. "Are you joking? I was there, today. I saw the men, and their guns. They saw _me_. They promised to shoot me if I took just one step closer and you want me to cross it? It would be suicide."

"Not at all. Please observe." He'd begun drawing on the board, sketching long white lines across the surface. "The wall was built to be threatening, and to be fatal, and it is. Perfect, it is not. We can beat it."

"_We?_"

He ignored the accusation, concentrating on the board. "The backland wall is your first obstacle, but it's not a serious one. You can take a running jump, and one of our taller friends will give you a boost, which should clear you well over the top. I'm confident that you are agile enough to avoid the looped barbed wire."

"Oh you are, are you?"

"I am. You should also be able to navigate the wired fence just inside. They depend on posts to support it, and I believe you already know you can scramble up and down those without trouble or delay."

My mouth opened and then closed again, dumbly, and he nodded as if I'd agreed.

"You will inevitably trip an alarm at that point. Fortunately, our resident engineer is extremely good at blowing things up. The power plant that keeps this strip of the wall humming is going to suffer a mysterious explosion at twenty-three hundred, rendering the signal fence useless and providing you with a healthy cover of darkness. Unfortunately, it probably won't be enough to hide you from the two nearest of the watchtowers. They are our biggest threat. Each one holds a Triple Gunner, meaning he has three separate machine gun nests, all positioned for maximum coverage across the Death Strip."

"The what strip?"

"Triple gunners A, and B," he continued, still ignoring me. He drew wide ovals around each of the towers, a Venn diagram of death. "Their ranges extend here and here, overlapping partly."

"You think I'm agile enough to avoid bullets too?"

The detective looked at me oddly. "Of course not. Nor will you have to. My sharpshooter has already scoped a suitable rooftop on this apartment…" He drew an X over a square two blocks east of the wall, on his chalkboard. "And will be in position before we even begin. He'll take out the guards in both towers."

"Take out?" I repeated uneasily, and he misunderstood the look on my face.

"Don't worry, he hardly ever misses. All you need to worry about is the Strip. When you've gotten yourself over the signal fence, you'll be in one of the fakir beds – a two by six bed of nails. It's designed for cars trying to bust through the wall, not for people, so you won't be in real danger; just watch your step. And the blackout is going to stir up considerable suspicion up and down the wall, so move quickly. I trust that won't be a problem."

This time he looked at me rather dryly, and I crossed my arms with a huff.

"My strategy thus far is calculated and precise. I have no doubt it will execute perfectly. But it will be up to you alone to cross the death strip on foot, and that is where I am… forced to admit to some degree of chance. That remaining seven percent."

He squeezed the chalk in a sudden fist, frustrated scowl flitting across his face. "A random patrolling guard is possible, perhaps with flashlights, perhaps with dogs. Certainly with a gun. So just in case, I want you to carry this."

His hand went under his jacket and came back out with a handgun, held forward hilt first in offering. I nearly choked again.

"What the hell? No, never!" I jumped back, hands pulling back as if he might try to shove it into one of them. "Put that away; I won't touch it."

"I would prefer that you go armed. It may only be seven percent likely to occur, but you can be sure that if it does, they won't hesitate to kill you."

"And you expect me to what, kill them first? I don't know how to do that, I wouldn't even know how to hold it! I'm not going to shoot anyone, not ever."

The detective let a tiny sigh escape him. "But you have shot someone. Many times."

Have I really? Sick dismay welled up in my throat and I had to swallow it back. "I don't care. I won't have anything to do with that gun, or that wall. I don't want to die! It's easy for you to draw pictures on a chalkboard, but I don't see you preparing to get yourself over fences and nail beds. If you hate it here so badly, why don't _you_ cross the wall?"

"I can't do that. I'm not trapped; you are. Only you can escape."

"So, I can escape, even though I'm trapped, and you can't, even though you're not."

"Exactly."

"That doesn't make any sense," I snapped, provoking nothing more than a raised eyebrow.

"It seems quite logical to me."

"Because you are as crazy as everyone else in this place. And I think it would be better for my health if I left now, before you can toss me over a fence and count how many bullets I catch."

I turned on my heels and just as quickly he snatched my wrist, closing a surprisingly strong grip around it.

"Let me go."

"Please try to understand; I don't want you to come to any harm. It isn't for my sake that you need to cross, it's for yours. If you don't, you'll be trapped in this place forever."

"I'll be alive!"

"I am not so sure."

"That's what you want me to risk my life for? 'Not so sure'?"

"I don't _want_ you to risk your life," he corrected. "I'm afraid you just… have to."

"Well that makes me feel heaps better. And safer. I think I was better off with that gang in the park. Tell me, why does everyone in this city want to injure me somehow?"

He actually flinched, though he didn't let go. "I am your friend."

"I don't _know that_." Miserable frustration that had been building all day was suddenly too much to ignore, like a heavy weight hanging inside my chest, and all I wanted to do was obey its pull and crumple to the floor. "I don't know anything! I haven't known anything all day!"

The detective's determined expression softened, a little. "Please -"

"Enough."

Promptly he shut his mouth, and we both looked to the door. I nearly hiccuped with surprise when I saw the man standing there; I didn't know any person could be so huge. He nearly filled the doorframe, broad shoulders close to scraping each side of it, and he towered well over either of us. Big but not fat, the bulk of his body well-suited to his massive frame. When he stepped into the room, he moved with a quiet grace that seemed out of place for such a giant. I'd already gotten used to looking up to everyone I met, but now I felt I'd shrunk down to about half my size. He could probably crush me without a thought, but his blue eyes were gentle and kind.

"I think we've overwhelmed him, lieutenant. He's been through a difficult day and he needs time to sort through what you've told him."

"That's time we can't spare."

"We can spare a little. Let him go now."

"Yes sir." He relinquished his grip on my wrist and stepped back, looking worried and unhappy but not angry. The giant extended a hand to me in invitation, and smiled.

"You look as though you could use a little fresh air. Will you join me up on the roof?"

I hesitated, unconsciously rubbing the skin where that detective had held on so tightly.

"Who are you?"

Sadness clouded that calm blue gaze. "Do you know?"

"No, that's why I _asked_." I regretted the sharp words the second they left my mouth, and wished I could forget the brief flash of hurt across his face. "I mean- I'm sorry, but I don't."

"He is our leader," the detective said quietly, back to studying his chalkboard diagram. "And I do mean _our_. If you cannot bring yourself to remember his name, then you will address him as sir."

"I am someone you can trust," added the giant, and nodded towards the doorway. "Please. It is only a request, not an order."

Somehow, that made a difference. Stiffly I nodded, and followed him out into the narrow hallway. He nearly filled that too, and when he turned to climb a tiny staircase, I almost thought he'd get stuck. But he ascended without trouble, making a remarkable lack of noise on the old wooden steps that creaked under my shoes. When he'd reached the top step, and an apparent dead end, he pulled with casual strength on a cord dangling from the ceiling and lowered a trap door. Cold air rushed in from above, and he ascended the rungs built into the opened door in just two steps. I scrambled up after him, and found myself on the filthy and weather-stained concrete rooftop of this club.

"Is that better?"

I shivered within my borrowed clothes, but I also nodded. The rooms inside were all too small, crowded with men that I didn't know but apparently knew me, constantly watching me and expecting me to do something I didn't want to do. I hadn't realized how badly the claustrophobia was smothering me until I was here, back under the sky. The man beside me clasped his hands behind his back and tilted up his head, studying it.

"Those clouds look like they've got more snow in them. My strategist downstairs is happy, because they're covering any moonlight, but it would be nice to have a clear night again. I would have liked to see the stars. I'm sure you would too."

"I guess," I mumbled. The look he gave me was so pitying it made me want to fold up inside this oversized coat.

"Do you not even remember stars?"

"No. Not really."

"Despicable," he sighed, and I tensed.

"Excuse me?"

"Not you. Them. What they did. This is war, and it is one thing to shoot a man. But nobody should take away his memory of the sky." He sat on the low wall bordering the rooftop, which was a relief. At least now I was nearly eye level with him.

"War," I repeated, slowly.

"Yes. One that is becoming more vicious at every turn, I'm sorry to say."

"And who is… them?"

He studied my face carefully. "Do you know? Have you heard anything today? Maybe you saw something?"

I was shaking my head, but at that last part I hesitated. What was it – that pin that the quiet man wore on his lapel? And the men in the park had pins on their jackets, too.

"I saw a face. A purple one."

"Yes. That would be 'them'."

"And they did this to me? Took away my memories?"

"I hope not. What I think is that they just covered them up, made it harder for you to recognize us. Harder for you to recognize yourself. And in the process, confused the hell out of your relationship with reality. Everything you think you know, you don't know at all. Is this Berlin? Are you really German? Are you even human? These are the questions you could be asking yourself, if they had allowed you the freedom to think."

I was starting to feel a little lost. That buzzing noise was back, zithering in the back of my head and distracting me. I stared at my hand, clenched it into a fist and let it open up again. Of course I was human, how could I not be?

"I don't understand at all."

"I know." He sighed again, a little more loudly. "Someone in your situation, I wouldn't expect to. I said too much, and I'm sorry. But I'm just so anxious to see you escape; we all are."

Fiercely I tried to ignore the buzz in my mind, willing it to vanish. It did at least get quieter. "So your friend said. It still makes no sense to me."

"Very little in this city does," he agreed. "But he is, unfortunately, correct. We're not trapped; we can't escape. You are trapped, so you can escape."

"That's backwards."

"It's not. Listen to me again: we're _not trapped_. You are. Think – it's only illegal if they catch you at it."

His lips quirked up in a mirthless smile, but I was busy struggling to turn his words into something I could understand.

"You're not trapped… you're not a prisoner. You're not in prison. You- you can't escape a prison that you're not in."

"That's right."

"But I am. I'm trapped, I'm a prisoner. I'm the only one that can escape."

He looked relieved. "Very good. Now you've got it."

"But I still don't understand. I'm here, standing in front of you, out under the night sky. I don't feel like a prisoner."

"That is what the very best tyrants want you to feel. How can you miss freedom when you don't remember it? How can you reason for yourself, when you let them tell you what to know? They say the most potent weapon of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed. And you are so very oppressed, my friend, and very much their prisoner. But you know what I think?"

"Not at all," I whimpered. He leaned forward some, bracing his hands against his knees.

"You don't want to be here. You may not know it, but you don't want this place at all. That you can even see me – see any of us – is proof. Maybe you don't recognize your friends, but we're still here. You know who we are, and you _want _to come home to us. That's why we're all here. We want to help."

I thought about all the strangers waiting inside, the eagerness in their smiles as their eyes followed my every move.

"Why is it so important? I'm just me, just one blonde kid that's shorter than anyone. Why does everyone want to help me so badly?"

"I like to think that caring so much about 'just one blonde kid' is what makes us different from _them_. You might be short, but you still have your right to freedom."

He smiled, this time a genuine one, and I noticed a flash of red glinting on his collar. Was that pin there before? The face was similar to that purple one, but not identical. This one was more an emblem of strength, not menace.

"I want to try," I said, surprising myself.

"Hmm?"

"I want to try, that plan that your friend made. I still don't understand any of this, but I think you're right."

"That you deserve a chance at freedom?"

"Not that. I think you're right that I can trust you." I glanced at the pin again. "… sir. And if you need me to cross that wall, if you say it will help me, then I'll do it."

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.


	5. part V

_Give me liberty, or give me death!_

_- Patrick Henry_

The look on the detective's face, when his - our? - leader told him I'd agreed was one of pure relief. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and when he opened them again he was all business. Downstairs became a flurry of activity as he issued orders, separating the men into teams, assigning them their tasks. Some of them left. I huddled in an out-of-the-way chair, feeling very small and scared. I would have liked to sit by the big man, but I couldn't see him anywhere now and wasn't sure if he was even still in the club. I did notice that several people had that same red pin stuck on their collars, and I wondered if they'd just put them on, or if I had simply missed it first time around.

"You alright there, short stuff?" The club owner knelt in front of me, concern in his voice. I couldn't quite bring myself to shake my head and make him worry, but I couldn't nod yes either. I shrugged instead. His smile was sympathetic. "I know you're nervous, but that's just because you don't know how good ya are. When ya put your mind to it, you can jump walls and tap dance through fields of alarm-triggers like nobody's business. It's something only someone your size could do, ya know."

"I don't remember any of that."

"You will, soon enough. And in the meantime, you'll show 'em that even the smallest of the small can beat them at their own sick game." He plucked the red pin out of his collar and pressed it into my hand. "Here, take this. You're one of us, after all, no matter what the state says about it."

The tiny metal pin was warm in my palm. I closed my hand over it, drawing some comfort from it, and nodded my thanks.

"All peripheral teams have been deployed," the detective announced, coming to stand just behind the club owner. "I just want to get an extra clip from upstairs and then we'll go. Is he ready?"

"He's ready. He'll be just fine."

"None of us are fine!" yelped the sentry, who'd been peeking through a curtained window all this time. "The Stasi just pulled up. _He's_ here."

Everyone in the room froze, myself included. Then everyone started talking at once.

"How did they -"

" - said he wasn't being followed -"

"Switch off the lights!"

"Lock the door -"

"No, barricade the door!"

"Quiet," snapped the detective, and they all hushed instantly. "We let him in."

"What?" screeched the sentry, along with a few others.

"Try to lock him out, and we'll only be locking ourselves in while he has all the time in the world to call for backup. We can't afford to be trapped. So we let him in, let him see what we want him to see, and then we let him go." He crossed the room in brisk strides while he spoke, and flipped the picture of the Chairman around to face outward. Then he snapped at me, and pointed to the bar. "Hide. Now."

"Wouldn't it be better to go -"

"Office is the first place he'll look, you know that as well as I do. Rooftop, the next. So we hide him down here in plain sight. It is the best we can do on short notice."

A quiet rapping sounded on the door, which might as well have been thunderous banging for the way everyone tensed. The owner snapped out of it and tugged me out of the chair, steering me toward the bar. I shook off the stupefaction and launched myself up over the stools, clearing the bar easily and dropping into a graceful crouch. Even as I did so I could hear the bolts sliding back, and the door opening.

"Well, if it isn't my friendly neighborhood Stasi agent!" the club owner hailed with over-exaggerated cheer, and jumped gracefully backward to sit on his own bar. "_Friendly_ being relative, of course. What brings you to my place on such a nippy, nasty night?"

"Investigation, pending," came the answer, flat and cold, and my heart skipped a beat just hearing his voice again. I wondered if he was still wearing his sunglasses, even at night, and thought that he probably was. I didn't even have to peek over the bar to sense the quiet menace curling around him, and the raised hackles of everyone in the room. Nobody else spoke, or made any move that I could hear. The sound of his shoes as he crossed the room was easy to identify. He was coming closer.

"Investigating? Me?" The owner practically gushed innocence. I could see him spread his arms and lean back against them, the picture of nonchalance. "Whatever for? I can show you my license for the club, the license for the bar, my property tax forms, my payroll tax forms... or perhaps my collection of music? State-approved, of course. I love my government."

I thought I heard a faintly annoyed sigh. "Sarcasm, unnecessary."

"I think that depends on your point of view."

They must be face to face now, sunglasses versus sunglasses. One of them wearing an easy grin, with everything to hide, the other an emotionless mask that had nothing of his own to hide and everything to hunt. Who would win? I bit my lip and tried not to shiver.

"Enough with the games, already," someone else snapped, and I flinched. I didn't realize he'd come with his two henchmen. "You know why we're here. Blonde, short, fast on his feet? Seen him anywhere around? Like, say, upstairs in your office?"

"Gentlemen, I do believe I have no idea who you mean."

"Then you don't mind if we take a look?"

"Why, Tweedle-Dee, are you actually saying I have a choice?"

"Not on your life. And do not call me that."

"Sorry. Tweedle-Dum. So easy to get you two mixed up."

I heard twin hisses of irritation. "I can't wait to see that stupid smile wiped off your face when we finally shut this place down. You know we're gonna do it someday."

"Aw, shut me down? But then whose phone conversations would you listen in on all day and night? You might actually have to get lives of your own."

"You loud-mouthed, disrespectful, son-of-a-"

"Delays, unnecessary," their boss interrupted, sounding just a little impatient. "Office, now."

"Yes sir, right away sir." Fluidly the owner swiveled back over the bar and landed gracefully on his feet, not more than two centimeters from my elbow. "Anything for my government."

His heel tapped me on the arm as he started moving, which I knew was no accident. He was alerting me to the problem of the bar's layout, the backside of which had a clear view of the stairs. The Stasi agent wouldn't even have to turn around; I'd be easily visible in his peripheral vision. I must be getting more used to this, because I didn't waste a second on panic before rolling silently and smoothly to the right. I reached the end of the bar and tucked myself behind the corner just in time, hugging my legs and head into my chest. I heard the light, skipping step of the club owner and the heavier tread of the agent following him, creaking up the stairs, and then all was quiet again. I did not move or make a sound. Someone would have said something to me if it was safe to do so, but no one said a word. The other two agents had not gone upstairs.

The awkward silence dragged on for a few minutes, before the detective finally broke it.

"I believe I'll have some coffee, as long as we're waiting. Would either of you gentlemen care for a cup?"

"Don't pretend this is a social call," one of them snapped. "We're not here for the coffee, and if we were, we would just help ourselves."

"Hm, I'm sure." He crossed the room and moved around the other end of the bar, drawing their attention, and I heard the mechanics of him lifting a coffee pot off the heater and pouring some into a thermos.

"Look at him, so calm and cool. I'd have thought you'd be a little more worried, cop, seeing as how you know we saw you there today at the bakery. You helped him escape."

"Oh, were you there?" he replied blandly. "I didn't see. I was concerned with a bomb threat; it was issued by a radical imperialist reactionary."

"Sure it was. Like we don't know you're not running their whole show anyway, while you hide behind that badge. And you think you can just keep on getting away with it, because your superiors are so eager to close ranks whenever we start asking questions."

"The interagency rivalry between the civilian police and the secret police is hardly my fault."

"Keep smirking," one of them said nastily. "I promise someday we'll catch you."

"Then I promise to be very careful."

Somebody else in the room stifled a snort.

"What are you laughing at, freckles?"

"Who, me?" The redhead sounded like he was on the far side of the room. "Nothing at all, of course, because we all know laughter is illegal in the German Democratic Republic. And I am a good German."

I chanced a peek around the edge of the bar. The detective had been wandering away as he spoke, and now the redhead had grabbed their attention, ensuring both their backs were turned to me. His brother, sitting at the table closest to me, caught my eye and then glanced at the front door. I was in full view of it; I couldn't stay here or they'd see me when they left. Casually he tipped back his seat and nudged the opposite chair back with his foot, clearing a path for me to crawl through. My throat went dry and I swallowed, but obediently I rolled onto my stomach and wriggled across the floor.

"Smart-ass punk. You think just cuz we can't touch the cop, we can't drag you back to Stasi headquarters whenever we like?"

"What's stopping you?"

"Nice try, but we're here for someone else. If we can't find him, then maybe we will take you for a ride. Bet the boss could get you to tell us where the kid is, with the right kind of persuasion."

The blonde's chair came down with a thump, almost smashing my hand. I flinched, when I saw the feet of the agents turn towards us, but they didn't move forward. A fraying black tablecloth hung between us like a curtain, just enough to conceal me.

"Ooh, your pretty-boy brother didn't like that threat, did he? Maybe you should come along too, just so you don't have to be separated. Would that make you feel better?"

"Using your face for a hockey puck would make me feel better. Catch a quick game outside?"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please." Someone else, over by the stairs, interceded with a voice languid as afternoon tea. "You are being inexcusably rude. These men are our public servants, after all. They deserve our respect, and cooperation." I could see their feet turning again, their attention diverted once more. When their backs were turned, I squirmed out from under the blonde's table and under the next, moving much faster than I'd expected. Apparently I was also very good at this sort of task. I heard someone thumb the latch of a lighter. "Smoke?"

"No. And keep the flattery to yourself, bookie, because we both know you're just making nice for the protection we give your little betting ring."

"But I do appreciate it so very much. Given the steep discount I've always granted to my illustrious Stasi customers, I imagine you appreciate it too. Let's not allow politics to interfere with a mutually beneficial and harmonious relationship, shall we?"

This table had a better angle to see more of the room. I settled myself in for waiting until this torture was over and these horrible Stasi agents would just leave.

"I hope that wasn't a hint at blackmail, bookie, because it sure sounded like it was."

"And we know you're not nearly stupid enough to try and blackmail _us_."

"Never crossed my mind," he assured them, and I could practically hear him exhaling a relaxed cloud of cigarette smoke. "As a matter of fact, I was just contemplating how much more beneficial our relationship could be. Tips, insider knowledge, the influence of well-placed state agents such as yourselves... I'm sure you can use your imagination. Surely it's worth discussing."

"Maybe." There was a note of grudging interest in the word. I could sense the tension in the room drop off, even if I couldn't read the body language of anyone above their knees, and relaxed a little myself. I needn't have bothered.

From within the forest of table legs and chair legs and human legs, the gray cat slunk into view. Immediately my throat locked up and I froze. It was winding its way unhurriedly amongst the furniture, rubbing fur against the occasional chair leg, and did not seem to have noticed me yet. But to move would draw its attention for sure and I could do nothing but lie there, watching and waiting for the inevitable. They were still talking when the cat did finally twist around, and found itself looking straight at me.

For one second, I think, the cat was genuinely stunned. It simply stared, and I stared right back. Then it let out a hideous screech that cut short any conversation in the room, back arched and all its fur standing straight up on end.

"What the -" One of the agents stepped closer and I scrambled backward, but the cat darted forward and slashed its claws at my face. I yelped with pain and jumped to my feet, almost knocking over the whole table as I tried to get away. Open-mouthed astonishment was all over both agents' faces, but the detective reacted faster than they did. He twisted sharply, throwing a cupful of scalding coffee straight into the closest agent's face, then reversed his momentum and smashed the metal thermos right into his temple. A blonde blur leaped for the other one, knocking him right back onto the floor, and then I couldn't see anymore because the detective nearly yanked me off my feet.

"Run now, please."

"But what about -" I heard some kind of crash from upstairs, but the detective didn't even falter. He flung open the door and dragged me outside, the redhead pushing me from behind when I tried to dig in my heels. "Wait! We can't just leave them -"

"Our friends have their job to do, and we have ours. No argument."

He'd been leading me to his police car, parked in front of the Stasi's black and brooding sedan. He hesitated when he saw it, however, and tilted his head to the side as if in thought.

"Hm, new factors are present. This might offer a tactical advantage." He turned to the redhead. "If you could, please."

"Thought you'd never ask." He slid across the hood with considerable relish, popped the door lock with something sharp I couldn't identify, and let us all in. While the detective tugged me into the backseat, he bent under the wheel and tapped a few wires against one another. The engine revved to life, and he was just getting ready to throw it in gear when his brother came tearing out of the club and threw himself into the front passenger seat.

"Ha, thought you could leave without me? And how come you get to drive?"

"Snooze you lose, bro." He hit the gas and we peeled away from the curb with a squeal, my head knocking back against the seat with the sudden acceleration. My hands were shaking.

"We left them. All of them!"

"The enemy was a threat to the mission, they had to neutralize that threat. They will be just fine."

"How do you know that? What about the owner? Isn't he your friend, don't you care?"

"Inexplicably enough, he is my best friend. And that's how I know he won't lose." The brief gleam of a streetlamp illuminated his wry smile. "He never has yet, to that particular agent. And he is fighting for you. We all are."

It had begun to snow again. The redhead took a corner a little too fast and the tires slid across wet pavement, sending my stomach into a lurch. He and his brother just whooped with excitement.

"What about your leader? Where is he?"

"Don't worry about him; he knows what his job is. I need to know that you know yours. Tell me again how you will cross the wall."

"I..." I clutched at the door handle when the redhead braked hard and forced the massive car into another tight turn. "I- get a boost over the first brick wall. I have to watch out for the barbed wire on top. I jump down, and climb a post in the wired fence."

"And then?"

"I have to be careful of the nail beds. I run across the strip and then I -"

"_Quietly_ run across the strip."

"Yes, and then I reach the western wall and I use the- um, the..."

"Barricade poles."

"Yes, I tip the barricade pole against the wall and climb up and over. What happens when I get over the wall?"

"I don't know. And don't forget about the chance of patrols. Here, take my gun now." He slipped it out of his holster and tried to hand it to me, once again I shook my head in rapid denial.

"No! I won't, I don't want it!"

"How come you never let me borrow your gun?" whined the redhead, gleefully driving past a red stoplight.

"Because you are menace enough to the public as it is. Take the gun."

"You can't make me!"

"I am trying to ensure your survival."

"You said it was just seven percent!"

"My statistics may have been altered by the unexpected appearance of the Stasi. I do not know how much they already know, and I haven't had time to reassess the probabilities."

"_What?_"

"Uh-oh!" yelped the brothers in unison, and we screeched to a painful halt. A blockade of black cars spread across the street before us, lights whirling in an eerie dance of red and blue amidst the snow. "Uh... I think maybe they figured us out."

"Verdammt," hissed the detective, then squared his shoulders to consider the obstacle.

"Take the next right, circle around through the alleys. It will be a squeeze but the car should fit."

"They've seen us!"

"They see a car that is one of their own," he corrected. "And we can get past them to the wall. They can't know where we are planning the crossing, or they would have gathered all their men there. Go on, and drive sensibly for appearance's sake."

The redhead sighed, aggrieved, but obediently started moving forward again at a moderate pace. Through Berlin's maze of tiny streets and even tinier alleyways we circled the police, sometimes no more than a hand's length away from the high brick walls of buildings. Very little light reached into those places, and in the glow of the headlights snowflakes flickered and danced. It looked to be coming down much more heavily than earlier, and I wondered if it would make climbing difficult. It was not really cold inside the car, but I shivered.

Our game of cat-and-mouse ended when the redhead turned out of an alley and nearly ran into a van parked diagonally across the street, purposely blocking the way. The milling Stasi agents, just as surprised as we were, looked at our car blankly and then one another. One of them approached the passenger side.

The redhead glanced at us in his rearview mirror. "Back up?"

"No," sighed the detective. He was looking at his watch. "We don't have anymore time for secrecy; I've got less than ten minutes to get him to the wall. I trust you boys know what to do."

"Ja!" they chorused, and the redhead shifted gears, revving the engine in anticipation. The detective popped open the latch on his door and gripped my wrist. "Brace yourself," he advised. I had just enough to time tuck my chin down and hold onto my seat before the redhead let out the clutch, hurtling us at the broad side of the van. Startled agents threw themselves to the side, and we hit the van with a bone-jarring crunch. All the breath was knocked right out of me when I hit the back of the seat and I fell backward, dazed. Before I could even tell up from down the detective was tugging on my arm, pulling me out of the car behind him. Everyone was yelling, and I flinched and cowered when someone fired a gun. For a moment I thought we were all dead, but then the twins whisked past me shouting "yee-haw" or something of the sort, and tackled the two closest agents. The detective was already running, with me still firmly in his grip, and I couldn't see anymore of the fight before he'd dragged me around the far end of the van.

"Don't look back!" he snapped, when I tried to do just that, and tugged harder. "Don't worry about them; they're obnoxious brats but they're very good at what they do. Come on."

Down the street we ran, in a world that suddenly seemed all black and white. The buildings had no lights to speak of, and loomed like the walls of a black canyon over our heads. Endless snow whisked and scurried around us. It obscured my vision, hiding things and then suddenly revealing them when I had come very close. Like a curtain, it parted and I saw it.

The wall. _Die mauer. _

My heart skipped and I balked; the detective squeezed my hand and herded me closer. "We're here, we made it. And everything is in place." He checked his watch. "You're almost done."

"You are more right than you know, lieutenant," someone spoke up, and the detective's gun snapped up. At first I couldn't see anything, but when my eyes adjusted to the twisting snow I saw him too: an agent melting out of the darkness, double rows of brass buttons gleaming in the lamplight. His hat was pulled low over his brow, and a black patch covered his left eye. From behind him appeared several more agents, all of them pointing guns our way.

"Caught you," he said smugly, "mastermind."

The detective didn't miss a beat. "If it isn't the head of Stasi himself, out of the office and getting mud on his boots. I'm honored. But I don't think you've caught me, not yet."

"You are surrounded and outnumbered, lieutenant, so I disagree. I have been waiting a long time for you to get this careless, knowing that when I take care of you your pitiful ring of radicals will fall apart. It is worth getting my boots a little dirty for the sake of such a prize. Now hand over the boy, and I promise not to kill you. I will merely throw you in prison for the rest of your life."

"This entire city is a prison. I am entirely prepared to risk my life in order that he escapes it."

His single eye flashed with irritation. "Perhaps you are not as intelligent as I took you for, lieutenant. I question the logic of a policeman who swears to serve his country, then orchestrates criminal violence against its government."

"I question the logic of a government that must build a wall to keep its people within the country."

The head agent scowled, and the detective was quick to pull me further behind him. "I take it you have no intention of surrendering him."

"I do not."

"Then I will have to kill you both where you stand. Better to have him dead than escaped. Such a pity; he would have made a useful subordinate. Any final words, detective?"

"Yes. Truck."

The lorry materialized out of the snow and slammed right into the head of the Stasi, throwing him into the air. The detective had to shove me aside before his body could hit us, and he hit the pavement instead with an ugly thud. The truck immediately shifted to the right and spun in a semi-circle, tires skidding across the wet street, shielding us from the fire of the regrouping agents. From behind the wheel, our leader waved at me and grinned.

"Impeccable timing as always, sir," the detective greeted him, when he jumped out of the cab. "We appreciate the assistance."

"I aim to please. And I aim for Stasi." He hefted an impressively-sized rifle and peered over the hood, almost splitting my eardrums with two explosive shots. A lot of angry shouts and gunfire peppering against the side of the truck was the response. I jumped and yelped when a bullet bit into the street not far from me, and the detective's head jerked up sharply.

"Get down, now!" He grabbed my arm and bolted away from the truck, our leader close on my heels. Another shot from the watching tower guard zipped past my head, and the detective tackled me to the street before the flanking fire of the other agents could send us there permanently. Our leader fired again and again, forcing them back, and the detective's eyes fastened onto his watch like our lives depended on it, which they did.

"Five, four, three, two -"

Lying on my back, I had a terribly clear view of the tower, the guard inside silhouetted by a powerful search light. He was raising his rifle again, aiming directly for us, but the detective did not try to move. Abruptly, the silhouette jerked backward as if pushed, then dropped out of the circle of light entirely. Triple Gunner B, in his tower, was fumbling for his gun when he slumped and fell against the tower rail.

The detective exhaled. "Good shots." Then he rolled us both out of the path of an agent trying to slam his police club into my head. Our leader smashed the butt of his rifle up into his chin, dropping him to the earth, and swung his fist in someone else's face without even pausing for breath. The detective was quick to jump to his feet and cover him. And then somehow the twins were there too, having finally caught up, throwing themselves into the chaos with reckless delight. The battle swirled around me, a pitched frenzy that didn't even seem to notice the small blonde reason for all of it.

Someone did notice me, though. I never even heard a sound before he grabbed me from behind, arm clad in an aviation jacket hooking around my neck. I didn't have the chance to cry out before he twisted his forearm and dug its sharp edge into my throat, cutting off all but a strangled wheeze.

"Poor little pipsqueak," he murmured into my ear. "You came so close, didn't you? Right in the shadow of the wall, all of your friends getting themselves killed just so you can jump over it. But I told you before, I have no intention of letting you go back to the other side." He tightened his grip and I struggled for breath, kicking futilely against his legs. "You've been a thorn in our side too many times, little spy. So much stolen data, so much unexplained sabotage, too many times your team has known exactly where to find me and my troops. I'm ending it, and I'm ending you."

I could no longer fight him. A shadow crept over the edge of my mind, threatening unconsciousness, and again I heard that strange and distant buzz. It was not so distant this time, actually, perhaps because I was about to die, and limply I waited for him to finish the job. The buzzing kept getting louder, moving around in front of me instead of lurking in the back of my mind. Odd. Then I realized that was because the noise had an actual source this time. Drifting through the snow, almost close enough to land on my nose, was a tiny bee.

_That's not right,_ I thought dreamily, curiously detached from the man choking me to death. _It's too cold for a little insect like that. The bee shouldn't be here. It doesn't belong. _

I was shoved forward and nearly fell over when something hit my attacker on his head, ringing with a tinny echo. His arms went slack and he slumped over on the street, and the blonde twin dropped the metal trash can lid on his body with a snort of disgust.

"You'd think someone so good at stabbing others in the back would learn to watch his own. You okay?"

I walked past him without really hearing him. The bee was still there, zipping past and around the falling snowflakes, flying toward the wall. The bee did not belong. The bee was leaving. And without thinking, I followed. The bee started moving faster, really flying hard now, and I sped up until I was going at a light run. Whatever fighting was still going on, I did not notice.

"He's going for it!" I vaguely heard someone call out, echoed by another, and another, until all of my friends were cheering and egging me on. The detective snagged my jacket and held me back when I passed him, and I whimpered with dismay when the bee disappeared into the snow.

"Wait, wait!" Somewhere in the city an explosion sent vibrations racing through the ground, and the powerful searchlights beyond the wall went dark. "Okay, now. Go!"

I shot away from his released grip like a sprung rubber band, frantically sprinting to catch up to the bee. The wall bore down on me with frightening speed, but our leader was there waiting for me, hands cupped to hoist me up. The bee flew up and over the wall, and I leaped lightly into his hands. His powerful arms flexed and heaved up, fairly rocketing me up onto the wall, and I landed easily atop it. The bee was already well ahead of me, getting ready to disappear back into the snow. _Wait_, I silently pleaded, nimbly avoiding the loops of barbed wire, then twisted, and dropped off the edge. My gloved hands caught the edge of the wall, and then I let go to freefall the rest of the distance. I hit the pavement hard, but my knees were bent and I absorbed the shock well. I didn't even wait to catch my breath before I turned and dashed to the wired fence, scrambling up the post that held taut the wires. No sirens blared; all the power was out. I could hear my breath escaping in frantic, syncopated gasps as I clambered up the post. The little bee was flying so fast, and I had to stop and climb all these obstacles - I was afraid it would leave me behind.

I hauled myself over the top and slithered back down the other side, almost tripping and tangling my ankle in my hurry. I nearly forgot about the nail beds waiting for me below, but saw them just in time and landed neatly between the spiky rows.

I could just barely see it still, buzzing merrily across the waiting Death Strip. The bee and the snow were all that moved. I hung back for a second, and briefly kissed the little red pin in a prayer for good luck. Then I ran.

The towers remained dark and silent, as I passed underneath them. My friends had done their part to make it so. There were no lights to reveal me to any guards in towers further down the wall, and no one shouted in alarm as I dashed across the silent Strip. Everything was exactly as the detective planned it, and I was very nearly there. I was actually going to make it!

But the darkness and the thick snowfall could hide more than just me. I had just glimpsed the western wall when I saw him too, standing directly between me and my goal - that seven percent chance, the detective had called it. A guard? I blinked snowflakes out of my eyes and got a better look at his face, then wished I hadn't. The face from the picture was standing in front of me, the Good Chairman himself. He shouldn't be _here_, not the head of the government, yet he was. He stood before me, mouth stretched into a cruel smile, and readied his machine gun.

I skidded to a halt and froze, helplessly exposed. The Chairman towered over me, massive as the man back there who called me friend, but with no hint of that gentle kindness. I should have taken that gun after all, not that would I have known how to use it.

"Little fool," he sneered. "I can't believe you actually tried to run. I was willing to give you everything, don't you know that? Your life would have been so easy if you had just stayed put. Just listened. Just obeyed. But you had to try, and now look where that's gotten you." He aimed for directly between my eyes, and all I could do was stand there and tremble.

"Was it worth it, your pathetic bid for liberty? Is _death_ worth it?"

His finger moved to pull the trigger, I waited to die, and we were both taken by surprise when the little bee landed on his cheek. And stung him, hard.

"Ouch!" For all his size, he flinched and yelped, slapping his hand against his face to crush the insect. I bolted forward on reflex, frantically grabbing at my two-second reprieve, and jumped. I can't believe I did it, but I was agile enough to snatch his coat and scramble right up his body, pushing my foot against his shoulder to launch myself at the top of the western wall. They'd covered it with a smooth iron pipe and it took every scrap of my good balance to not slip and fall right back off it. The Chairman bellowed with anger, fury curdling in his unpleasant face as he whirled around and took aim. I shifted my position, ready to jump, but this time I was not fast enough. I had just pushed off the surface of the pipe when his bullet caught me on my left shoulder.

It didn't hurt. It felt instead as if something very small and hard had simply shoved me back. Backwards I toppled from the wall, head-first, distantly aware that I would die. Warm blood squelched under my sweater. I would die, but at least when I did I would be on the right side of the wall. At least I would be free. That is the answer to your question, Good Chairman, and may you never forget it.

_Yes, it was worth it._

_

* * *

  
_

Bumblebee's optics snapped online, a useless action when all they could register was a chaotic blur of jagged shapes rushing past him at high speed. He struggled to find his footing, only to realize he didn't have any because it wasn't the jagged shapes that were moving, it was him. Too fast to control he was falling down the steep slope of a half-demolished building, tumbling head over heels. Someone shouted, and then several others too, but the noises were all jumbled together and indistinguishable over the sound of his armor scraping along the metal surface underneath. Sensors blared, crowding information into his sluggish processor.

"Bumblebee!" A massive hand managed to snatch his pede just as he went flying right off the edge, the blurs of the world tilting crazily. "It's okay, I've got you. Don't move." Sharp staccato sounds surrounded him, and the voice swore. "Slag it, give us some cover fire. Now!"

Several guns all around him opened fire, and Bumblebee was hauled back up and over the edge with one hard yank. He hit the ledge with a thud, and the stars in the night sky veered back and forth in sharp white lines. The lights were too bright, every noise too loud, and he tried to curl up and hide away from all of it.  
"Bumblebee, it's us!"

"Does he know us?"

"Careful, he'll attack!"

"But I saw him turn on the 'cons -"

"No one's ever come back -"

"Quiet, all of you, and back the frag off. Let me look." Ratchet gripped Bumblebee by the chin and forced his head up, holding him still while he scanned. Dermal plating flattened with disbelief. "I'll be slagged. He's back; his processor is clear of the virus. He beat the fragging Robosmasher."

Everyone cheered, and he flinched at the noise. So many optics were fixed on him, eager soldiers crowding around to stare. Why was everyone always _staring?_ Fresh alarms popped up in his processor, warnings about his internal temperature and overextended coolant system. Prowl knelt beside Ratchet, looking stunned. "Bumblebee, can you hear me? Can you speak? I need you to tell me how you did it. No 'bot has ever escaped the Robosmasher. Is there a code? A password?"

"Ease off, Prowl, give the mech a moment or two. That was a hell of a dive just now." Crouching by his leg, Jazz grinned and bopped his fist lightly against his armor. "It was the stunt of a lifetime, Bee; I'll never forget it. You hit every 'con in range and just threw yourself over the edge of the tower - I couldn't believe it. I'm sure they couldn't either. They thought they'd made a lackey out of you."

"What was it like?" someone else asked.

"Did you worship Megatron?"

What? The colors were still too sharp, the blazing starlight too bright. Bumblebee shuttered and rebooted his optics, trying to adjust with little success. Ratchet was examining his scan in closer detail now.

"Holy slag, his fans are going at a hundred and ten percent, this 'bot should have shut down breems ago! What in the Pit have you been doing, Bumblebee? Racing back and forth across the planet?"

"He's going to shut down? Bumblebee, quick, tell me how you did it. We can't let Megatron enslave anymore of us, you have to tell me!"

"Back off, he's still confused -"

"And we could lose the best chance we have against that weapon if we let him shut down now. This minibot just did the unthinkable. Let's not waste his success."

But he hadn't done it, not alone anyway...

"Bumblebee." Prime's voice was soft, but immediately cut short the argument. One hand rested on Bumblebee's shoulder. "My friend. I am relieved beyond words that you came back to us; I thought we'd lost you forever when Megatron plugged you into that hideous machine. Now we can prevent anyone from succumbing to his virus ever again. Please, can you tell us the code?"

It was already slipping away, the memory of that strange world none of them had ever seen, teeming with alien organic creatures speaking an alien language. Bumblebee struggled to hold on to the peculiar images _(human)_, to remember at least a little _(German)_, but they skittered away like ash in the wind. It was pure nonsense, all of it, and would surely be wiped out by the coming defrag cycle. A final warning informed him that shutdown was just one astrosec away.

"Bee? Little bot?"

"Bumblebee, the code?"

"West Berlin," he finally managed, his vocalizers raspy with all the air cycling furiously through his system. "You can find the freedom in... West Berlin." His engines shut down and he tipped over against Prime's shoulder, deep in dreamless recharge. The startled Decepticons had already retreated, and for now Cybertron was quiet. They had their friend back; this orn they were the victors. But Prime and his officers could only exchange baffled looks.

"What's a wesberlyn?"

_**die ende**_

* * *

_Here's to the fall of the Berlin Wall, twenty years ago today._

_In liberty,_

_Peacewish_


End file.
